"I don't care what you do, I don't care what you say
I don't care where you go or how long you stay
Someday baby, you ain't gonna worry po' me any more

Well you take my money and you turn it out
You fill me up with nothin' but self doubt
Someday baby, you ain't gonna worry po' me any more..." Bob Dylan from his fabulous album 'Modern Times'

The first time we had sex the guy spit in my face as he had orgasm. As one best does in a different culture, I tried to experience it without judgment. Some weeks later I asked a friend if it was normal in Brazil to do that. Eyes wide in surprise disbelief smug confirmation, he said no. More time passed before I asked him why he'd done that and he said because he thought I wanted it. I had to wonder if I did. In spite of my wanting to eliminate prejudice from my psyche, maybe I felt he was my primitive man. Going to the terreiro with him and joining in the endless drumming and dancing certainly felt primitive. They sing African songs so old no one even knows what many of the words mean. It was exciting to me. The essence of what I liked were the muscular males doing the drumming and dancing. Maybe had the guy himself danced and been muscular the glue of physical attraction would have held fast. I might have accepted and agreed with the guy's remark that he was my last best chance in which case more spitting would have been ok. But in time feelings and recollections shift and fade and now his spit has for me come to represent the contempt or shame or guilt he felt for being with a Caucasian American. For a guy high in the Terreiro hierarchy and whose doctoral thesis was the African Diaspora, the guy's confusion in just what he felt for me is understandable.

It could be said we were representatives and victims of our nation's culture and history. I think we both felt guilty - he because I represented a country that's negatively interfered continuously in his people's plight, and me, because I've always thought blacks used to white's gain and more recently learned that South Americans have been exploited by my United States as well. My family and culture made it understood that an interracial relationship would be unwelcome and without support. (Only after I entered the world of dance did I find myself attracted to blacks socially and sexually. But by the end of 70's many of us reluctantly accepted that blacks/Afro-Americans were withdrawing into their own culture and leaving Caucasians outside. And as I was living in small southern town USA I didn't push cultural limits and played without commitment.) Anyway, I'd come to Brazil for the sea, sun and Carnival! not knowing how much else I'd find. On seeing the physical beauty and the spirit and joy of the people, i just wanted to join in and be a part of it all. My homosexuality, desire and affection linked me to a wide variety of Brazilian gay men and their families. I was innocent as to the power this gave them over me.

The guy was a tireless educator and I came to feel competently informed in matters Brazilian and my sense of solidarity grew. But with increased perception came the unwanted realization that he felt less solidarity with his black brothers than i had originally thought. A variety of psychological forces that I didn't have the ability to understand, separated him from many of them. He was as into social stratification thru iconic symbols of success and identification as were most Americans. He wanted needed deserved a newer car, he wanted deserved to eat in the more expensive restaurants, he demanded deserved respect without demonstrating responsibility, and said to my face that he could never love a 'poor guy'. My motives for supporting him in his desires dissolved. I hoped when he got his degree and began to teach full-time he'd come down to earth and be proud of what he'd accomplished and be fine without my financial support. I, in turn, would ultimately have a 'forever-friend' in whom to be proud, and realize my own dream of having a connection to Brazil.

Instead, just after graduation, he was 'going crazy' in his small, but air-conditioned, sufficient and inexpensive apartment and searched and found a bigger place with a panoramic view high in the mountains above the city. By then our 'love' relationship was over and we were fighting to remain friends. After all we'd been thru together, he asked to borrow more money than I could afford. He solemly swore to pay me back. But he didn't and so ended our friendship.

Carlos Castaneda had advised me, as a wannabe young warrior, saying that the beggar should take the money and then spit in the hand. I thought then, wow, cool to think/write something like that. Now having been spit in both my face and hand I have to think about it some more:-)

Maybe I have it all wrong and the guy really loved me but not to the point of asking forgiveness or giving explanation and at the same time hated me for not loving him as he needed to be loved. It's been three years now and he hasn't contacted me, or paid back a cent . The guy is, in his relationship to me, , a hypocrite, coward and fraud and I post my opinion of him here so as to deny him speaking my name to anyone saying that I am his friend.

So for me, 'someday' is now and writing this journal helped get it here faster.